


Acts of Kindness

by Karios



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Background Case, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-21 04:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/pseuds/Karios
Summary: Henry really doesn't want to attend Lucas’s annual precinct party, Abe talks him into it, and two murders are solved with mixed results.





	Acts of Kindness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Small_Hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/gifts).



> Dear Small_Hobbit,
> 
> Your requests were very sweet. I wanted to give you all the friendshippy goodness possible. I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope it shows. I also hope I didn't mangle anything British. My Brit beta was unavailable to read the last few added scenes so I googled.

“Has the mail arrived already, Lucas?” Henry asked. He nudged the envelope off to one side with the back of his hand.

“Uh, no,” Lucas tugged at his collar and paused so long that Henry actually bothered to glance up in irritation. “It's from me.”

“Not that I'm not a fan of letters,” answered Henry. It was true; the gradual death of the post deeply disappointed him, not that he really had anyone to receive a letter from, “But you're standing right here, why would you need to give me a letter?”

“It’s not a letter. It’s an invitation to a little shindig I'm throwing.” Lucas made a vague waving motion Henry had terrible interpreting, but he took it as a signal to return his paperwork. “Look,” Lucas continued and bent himself in half to put himself back in Henry's field of vision. “I know you don't really party hardy....”

“Hearty,” corrected Henry.

“Huh?” asked Lucas, righting himself.

“Never mind. Go on about your social event.”

“Well, as I was saying. I wasn't really expecting you to come, but I even got Jo to agree this year, and an appearance by the king of cool would really set the night off, you know?”

Henry did not know, but he nodded, hoping it would end the conversation.

“So you’ll come?”

“Lucas, I still have no idea what I'm supposed to be coming to!”

“Oh it's-”

“Never mind,” repeated Henry already scrambling for his opener. In one swift stroke of the blade, Henry sliced open Lucas’s invitation. It was a glossy gray sheet of paper stylized to look like a headstone with letters printed in a shape such they looked like they dripped down the page. Henry could recognize Lucas had gone to a great deal of trouble to capture horror movie vibe popular in the mid-1950s, though his appreciation was dampened considerably when he noted the actual event in question: “A murder mystery party, don't we all get enough of that around here already?”

“Some of us do,” mumbled a dejected Lucas. “Just forget it, I'm sorry I asked.” There was something in the way Lucas slunk away that reminded him of the few times he’d gotten short tempered with Abe when he was young, that wouldn't allow Henry to forget it at all.

* * *

Enough that, during a slow walk to the crime scene later that day, he broached the matter with Detectives Martinez and Hanson.

“Did you hear about Lucas’s soiree this Saturday?”

“I don’t know if I would call it a soiree, but the kid throws a great party, Doc. It’s like our precinct’s policeman’s ball. Karen and I never miss it.”

“It’s true,” Jo put in. “Everyone says I’ve missed out.”

“What prompted you to come this year?”

"Well someone brought to my attention,” she nudged Henry to make it clear exactly who she meant, “I don't get out much. Why, you thinking of coming, Henry?”

His eagerness to urge Jo to rise from the fog of grief, while remaining stubbornly set apart himself seemed painfully hypocritical. The combination of being confronted with his own advice, plus the frankly beautiful spark of hope in Jo’s eyes made him answer, “I-I’ll consider it.”

"Good." Jo smiled at him. "Now the body's down here." She led them down into a hole.

The case seemed fairly straight-forward. A dumped body found by a terrified gardener in his early twenties who clearly had nothing to do with it, unless he was moonlighting as an award-winning actor. “She might or might not have died here,” Henry hedged as he looked over the body itself. “There are multiple injuries—cuts, bruising, broken bones, but it will be easier to catalogue everything once we get her out of here, and cleaned up.”

“We’ll have her delivered then,” agreed Jo. “Hopefully you can also help us ID her, there's nothing on her, or in her pockets. Hanson and I will continue combing the hole, make sure she didn't lose anything.”

Henry nodded. "I'll catch a cab then, and hopefully we’ll all have more answers soon.”

The lead ME scrambled out of the hole after a couple of attempts to gain purchase against the slippery walls.

“Hey watch it,” complained Hanson, brushing imaginary dust from his coat.

Jo laughed. “Don't think because you're sneaking out early that I’ll let you forget about the party,” she called after Henry.

* * *

Even if he wanted to, Henry found Lucas’s party the unavoidable subject of the afternoon. Not because his go-to assistant had brought it up, but on the contrary because he spoke as few words as possible the entire remainder of the day. Henry found the only working condition he liked less than Lucas’s constant chatter was the uncomfortable silence that greeted him now, punctuated by the briefest of answers. Ultimately, Henry suggested they find someone else to take over the balance of their work for the day, to which Lucas stunningly replied “do what you want Henry, you always do.”

Henry had never known Lucas to be so put out by Henry's lack of socializing before, clearly this party was dearer to his usually cheerful assistant than the ME had realised. Perhaps he could purchase a gift to thank Lucas for the invitation. Over dinner, Henry decided to see if he could enlist Abraham in making an appropriate selection.

“Do you know anything about comic books?”

“Nothing more than anyone else who read them growing up. What are you looking to know? Is this for a case?”

Henry shook his head, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and stood. “No. I was invited to a party today and I wanted to decline with a gift.” Henry fetched the invitation from his coat pocket and handed it over.

Abraham had barely glanced at it, before answering, “Or you could, you know, just go and save yourself the trouble.”

“Abraham-”

“Don't, what harm can one night do?”

“Plenty.”

“Come on, take me with you, it looks like fun.”

Henry scoffed. “What you call fun makes a complete mockery of my position as a medical examiner and police work as well.”

“Maybe I’ll just call this Lucas up and get in another way.” Abraham pretended to muse, stroking his chin. “Has he got someone to play the murder victim yet?”

That thought even in jest, made Henry's stomach turn. “Abraham Morgan, I forbid you-”

“What are going to do? Ground me, pops?”

“Now you're being ridiculous.”

“So are you.”

“I help the police solve real murders,” protested Henry. "How can anyone possibly replicate that experience for a party?"

Abe snorted in reply. "You're not offended, you're worried you won't have any fun."

"Perhaps," conceded Henry, who felt more sheepish, now that his son had called him out.

“If that's true, just think of it as opportunity to add dying of boredom to your research."

Henry scoffed. “You've obviously not gotten to the best part. It's a costume party.”

Abe laughed outright at that. “Henry, I hate to break to you, but you've practically got half a costume shop squirrelled away around here. Consider it an occasion to wear some of your old clothes, if your everyday wear doesn't already qualify.”

“Very funny.”

“Men of more than 200 shouldn't pout,” Abraham teased further.

“I am not pouting.”

“Right, just tell this Lucas one or more Morgans are coming because I'm going with or without you.”

* * *

“Lucas regarding the invitation you gave me yesterday...”

“I get it,” Lucas cut him off. “It’s not your thing. No need to give me some excuse about washing your hair that evening, taking your car in, or watching a friend's dog for the weekend.”

Briefly, Henry toyed with the idea of taking his out. He could simply inform Abraham he’d been uninvited, and that would be the end of that. Of course that same excuse wouldn't work with Jo. And lying about it would only further strain his relationship with her and Lucas, which would in turn make work that much more difficult. With a shake of the head, he dismissed it. “No, actually, I wanted to ask if I may plus one?”

“What, like, a date? But, Detective Martinez is already coming.” Lucas turned and scrutinized him like Henry might a crime screen.

Henry didn't know whether to be more bothered by Lucas's surprise, or the blatant way he seem to insist on throwing Jo at him, as though the matter were any of Lucas's business. “Not a date,” he clarified quickly, “my roommate saw the invitation and expressed an interest in joining us. He's an older gentleman but I think you’ll like him.”

“More the merrier, dude.” Henry shot him a glare and Lucas gulped. “I mean, Dr. Morgan.”

Henry hoped that would be the end of it. However, Lucas waited until Henry was wrist-deep in some poor man's abdominal cavity to ask: “So, who are ya gonna be?”

“Lucas, please, can't this wait?”

“It's 'kay if you haven't decided but personally I think you should come as Sherlock Holmes. You're both freaky smart, and a bit of a loner, and the accent, and you both apparently live with a dude...”

Henry blew out a breath, how could anyone drive him to the point of exasperation so easily? “Lucas, I know it may come as a bit of a shock to you, but I am familiar with Arthur Conan Doyle’s work.”

“Right,” answered Lucas.

“And there were better comparisons you could have picked,” muttered Henry.

* * *

“Like that you're both insufferable bores and pains in the backside.” Abe suggested, once Henry had recounted the conversation and after the resounding bout of laughter.

"Hilarious," deadpanned Henry.

Abraham straightened up from his attack of the giggles, and adjusted the stove before heading for the front door of the shop.

“Where are you going now?” Henry asked. 

“To buy you a deerstalker.”

“I hardly think that's necessary.”

“What? The kid's got a good idea.” His son gave his best mischievous grin. "Dinner's in the oven, should be fine until I get back."

“I’ve gone through less work to meet the Queen,” grumbled the grumpy immortal.

“Can’t hear you, door’s closing,” called Abe a good fifteen seconds before it actually shut behind him.

* * *

Between Abe and Lucas party preparation seemed ubiquitous so Henry made an excuse to stop by the department, and found Jo posted outside the interrogation room. They watched as Detective Hanson ran questions past a suspect.

Henry waited for an appropriate break to ask, "who's in there?"

“Lawrence Halsey. Murdered Veronica Wakefield, that Doe we found Monday.”

“I didn't even know you’d discovered her identity, yet.”

“We hadn't. We were asking around, possibly closing in...” Jo shook her head. “Then this morning, this guy waltzes in. He not only gives us her name, but confesses.”

Henry studied Mr. Halsey. He sat hunched in the chair. When he spoke Henry could see, even from a distance, that the man was missing a few teeth. His skin was crinkled, and nearly the same color, as old shoe leather. “Why did he say he did it?”

“Guilty conscience.”

“Not the confession, the murder.”

“So far he’s saying it's an accident.” Jo returned her attention to the other room.

“Do you think he killed her?”

Jo thought about it. “No. But he’s got a long rap sheet, sometimes you take the win."

Henry frowned and Jo's face fell too. 

"I don't like it any more than you do, but clearly it's what he wants."

"The question is: why?"

* * *

The remainder of the week passed uneventfully. Jo poked around the Wakefield murder, but there were other cases, without free and open confessions in their files, to be solved. So it nagged at her and at Henry even as they squished themselves into costume, and headed over to Lucas’s venue. Henry found he wasn't as uncomfortable with giving Abraham free reign over his wardrobe as he'd anticipated. The plaid long coat and most of what went under it he'd already owned, and he'd fashioned one of his scarves into a tie. Abe had chosen Watson for himself which added to the absurdity of it all. Still, Henry had to admit his son looked fairly dashing in all of the layers he'd put on, despite the exaggerated, false mustache.

The party was already well-intended by the time the Morgans arrived, several of Lucas's personal acquaintances came by to introduce themselves, and Henry got the distinct feeling he was being appraised as though he were on exhibit. He made polite chatter with a couple of morgue colleagues, so as not to appear too rude, but was secretly grateful to be dragged off into a corner with the Hansons and Jo.

At least he was until Mike Hanson suggested, "Guess who I am."

Henry peered at the rumpled brown coat, white dress shirt, loosened black tie, and grey floppy hair the detective had donned. His best guess was a cop who slept in a closet overnight. He'd been about to say as much, when Abraham appeared behind him.

"You're Columbo, and based on that necklace, I'd say your ravishing wife is Jessica Fletcher."

Hanson grinned. "Two for two. Now we know where the Doc got his powers from."

Abraham snorted at the suggestion. "Henry's a radio person. Born in the wrong century."

Before Henry could manage a cross word with Abe for his hints, a sharp shriek sounded from the other room. "I do believe Lucas has discovered the body."

The aforementioned host rushed into the room. "There's been a murder! Assembled detectives, officers, constables, deputies. I'm sorry to interrupt your night of merriment, but if I may get some of you to help by examining the body? The rest of you, please don't let the snacks go to waste!" A queue quickly formed to create Lucas's first set of volunteers.

"C'mon," suggested Abe, "let's murder some of the punch first. I'm thirsty." 

The food spread was initially what he imagined from a Lucas Wahl event: popcorn, pretzels with cheese, crisps with various heavy mayonnaise dips, a hot dog bar with condiments, and a pizza cut into hors d’ouevres size squares with toothpicks.

“You’re Henry right?” inquired a woman about Lucas's age, as Henry eyed the greasy offerings.

Henry nodded, puzzled, which only grew as she led him down to a silver warming tray. She opened it to reveal beef medallions atop roasted veg and yorkshire puddings. “Lucas got this for you, special. He told me to make sure you got it.”

Henry could barely choke back his honor, and the accompanying embarrassment. The woman seemed to pay no attention.

"You got allergies, or something?” she queried.

“Something like that,” Henry replied, snapping out of his reverie and fetching a plate to serve himself.

“Sunday roast. Smells good too,” commented Abe when Henry returned. “That was thoughtful.”

“It was. Seems I’ve underestimated my assistant.”

“Seems you underestimated a friend,” countered Abraham.

Henry scrubbed a hand in front of his face. “I'll fix it.”

Abe shot him a pointed look.

“I’m going to start by being a better sport.”

Henry stuck to his resolution, throwing himself wholeheartedly into scavenger hunts for clues, witness interviews, and even general mingling.

The evening culminated in splitting into teams of two, and digging in a large indoor sandbox for a single scrap of paper, containing the murderer’s identity. Their best guesses as to the culprit's identity had been recorded over cake, a few moments ago, and Henry was nearly certain he had the right answer, but enthusiastically collected a shovel anyway.

“Well Abe, where do we start looking?”

“Why don't you ask Jo to join you? I'm going to bow out and hunt down more cake, or maybe another canapé.”

Henry crossed the distance to Jo, and tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ve been abandoned in favour of high cholesterol. Care to partner up?”

"Sure,” Jo followed after him her eyes crinkling in amusement. "You've gotten into the party spirit after all,” she observed.

“I recalled some rather good advice I was given recently, about stepping out of the confines of one’s comfort.”

Jo started to smile.

“That said, I'm a bit disappointed not to see you in a more interesting costume,” teased Henry. The black slacks and white blouse could have easily been from Jo’s regular wardrobe, the only clue that it was a costume were the ridiculously over-sized lapels--at least by this decade's standards--of her jacket.

Jo harrumphed audibly. “I'll have you know I'm a perfectly good Lacey. I even asked Mike to be Cagney. He didn't go for it.”

Henry stared at her blankly for a moment, so Jo continued on.

“We’re supposed to be digging, Henry.”

“Oh, quite right, yes.” He shook himself and began to dig. Lucas had left the sand fresh out of the package dry, and Henry wished it were a little denser. As it was, the grains rushed in toward the shovel blade anyplace he dug, striving to level out. Henry grunted in frustration and Jo laughed at him.

“Be careful you know what you're looking for, and that there isn't a real murder resting on whatever you can't find.” Jo meant it as a joke, but the second she caught Henry's eyes, the same spark of recognition dawned on both of them.

“Halsey could never have climbed out that hole alone. I had trouble, and I'm at least a head taller than he is.”

“So the suspect's older brother; came to visit him in lock up,” supplied Jo.

“Aha!” declared Henry, which drew looks from across the room. “Oh sorry, I was solving a different murder. I haven't found the scrap paper, though I am fairly certain it was James over there.”

“It's Jimmy,” replied the young man, and apparently fictional murder, in question.

“My apologies,” said Henry. Across the room, Lucas smacked his palm against his forehead.

He trudged his way over to Henry, and said, “I love you man, but remind me you can't come next year. Being upstaged by a real murder kind of kills the party.”

Henry chuckled. “I really am sorry, Lucas. But thank you for the evening and the break in our case."

Lucas kicked some sand. "Don't mention it, I guess."

* * *

Two days later, Henry slid down to sit on the floor outside Mr. Halsey's cell, studying the other man for a long moment.

He was still trying to decide how to broach the conversation, when Halsey looked up and broke the silence for them both. “You’re not my lawyer?”

“I'm not an officer, either, which might make it easier to tell me the truth.”

Halsey let out a sigh so heavy that it rattled his entire frame. “I’ve already given my statement. I signed it. What more do you want from me?”

“For you to tell me you didn't murder Veronica Wakefield?” suggested Henry.

His reply was careful. “Nikki’s death was an accident.”

“But not your accident.” This time there's not even the barest hint of a question.

At first, Halsey said nothing, so Henry spoke up again. "You'd be surprised Mr. Halsey the lengths I've gone to in pursuit of the truth."

“Is that a threat?"

"I don't threaten innocent men."

"If you're so sure of yourself, then why are you bothering to ask?" pressed a suspicious Halsey.

Henry rubbed the ridge along his eyebrows. "Because, if I am going to stand by and let you send yourself to prison, I'd like to understand why! But if you insist on not telling me, then I'll have to live with it. Trust me, it won't be the only thing that keeps me up at night.

Rather than answer Henry's question the man in the call asked one of his own. "You got any brothers Mister....?”

“Doctor Morgan, Henry,” he corrected, “and no.”

“Well mine, he was the best. The best big brother a guy coulda asked for. I was the screw up, you know? Drinks, drugs, all the wrong girls."

The faraway look in Halsey's gaze faded. He might not have commited murder, but he was every bit a condemned man in his own mind. "Steve’s got a life; he's got a family. His little girl’s only three years old. Nobody meant for what happened to Nikki, but if someone gotta pay, it ain't gonna be that little girl.”

Henry shifted, uncomfortable. “That's quite the sacrifice.”

Lawrence Halsey disagreed, and determinely set his jaw, silently entreating Henry to understand. “Not compared to a lifetime of cleaning up my messes. He was the one who was there. Bailing my butt outta jail, giving me food to eat and somewhere to sleep until I could see myself straight again."

Halsey's gaze unfocused again, and though he didn't move an inch, Henry spied the exact moment he fell backwards into a sea of unhappy memories.

"I just thought it was high time I cleaned one of his.” Halsey continued as though no time had passed at all.

Lawrence Halsey was willing to pay for his mistakes with his freedom, but everyone who has lived has debts they can never repay: to their ancestors, to their families. Some leave a smaller impression, their gifts returned in the way one works or lives, others still require a gesture to demonstrate their magnitude. Henry nodded slowly, got up, and walked away.


End file.
